


Pain

by TheSigyn



Category: Torchwood
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSigyn/pseuds/TheSigyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can punish you, Ianto. I can punish you until every drop of guilt is bled out of you and I have you screaming for mercy. Never doubt I can give you all the punishment you ever deserved.” He pulled Ianto’s head back. “But I won’t be your punishment, do you hear me? I am not your punishment!” Takes place after Countrycide and before and during Greeks Bearing Gifts. Five chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
Ianto woke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his chest, his every nerve raw with terror. For a long moment in the dim light, he wasn’t sure where he was. Then he saw he was in his spartan apartment, and the bedside light was on because he had started feeling afraid of the dark, and he had just had another dream about Lisa killing him, and everyone in Torchwood, and it was all Ianto’s fault, and he wanted to die.   
  
He shuddered, wishing he could cry. But his tears seemed to have dried up. He wasn’t numb — the pain was raw and rampant in his chest — but the tears themselves hadn’t come back since that miserable forty-eight hours immediately after Lisa’s death. He had cried and cried until the tears no longer tasted of salt, and cried until the skin around his eyes had felt raw with it, and cried until his throat ached. Then he’d gone to sleep and stayed that way for nearly eighteen hours. Then he woke up, saw that Jack hadn’t yet killed him for his betrayal, put on his suit, and went back to work. And he hadn’t cried since.   
  
Oh, but the pain. The pain just would _not_ go away. That was all he was, was pain. Time didn’t make it better — it just made it fester. And his nightmares hadn’t gotten any better since that trip to Brecon Beacons. When Jack had come swooping in like a knight on a white horse to save him.   
  
That had been a horrible moment, with that knife to his throat. Not the realization that he was about to die. Of course that was horrible. But the realization that he actually wanted to live. He didn’t know why he wanted to live. He was nothing but pain. But he wanted to live, and Jack had saved his life, and Ianto didn’t know what to do with any of that.   
  
He wanted to hate Jack. He _did_ hate Jack. And he had lied to Jack and let Lisa kill people, and that was all his fault, and....  
  
And he was back in his circle of pain and guilt again. Well, only one thing for it. Back to the hub. There was nothing else to fill the hours.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Jack was in his office when Ianto started his work. It was a good fifteen minutes before he came down. “All right,” Jack said. “What?”  
  
“What do you mean, sir?” Ianto asked.   
  
“What are you doing here at three thirty in the morning?”  
  
“Does it matter, sir?”  
  
“Yes,” Jack said. “You may not have noticed, but I live here. I’d like some privacy every once in a while.”  
  
“You never protested before, sir.”  
  
Jack glared at him, then sighed. “Fine. Clean the office while I’m out. I’m going for a walk.”  
  
Ianto did as he was bid, organizing files and emptying the bins. Then he climbed down the ladder to clean Jack’s little bed room.   
  
Ianto kept expecting to find some sign that Jack had brought a lover back home from one of his wanderings, but he never saw anything. He changed the sheets — which did not look slept in since the last time he’d done this — and swept under the bed, and turned around to find Jack leaning down the hole to watch him. “Everything all right, sir?” Ianto asked.  
  
Jack slid down the sides of the ladder and landed expertly at the ground level. “I don’t get you,” he said. “Doesn’t this endless cleaning and coffee ever get old?”  
  
“What else am I supposed to fill my day with, sir?”  
  
“What else,” Jack said. “Why do you really come here at three in the morning?”   
  
Ianto knew this pattern. It was the same pattern as what used to happen, before Lisa died, before everything blew up in his face, when he still needed to keep Jack distracted, when he still let Jack take him to his bed. When he gave him every opportunity, because he needed every spare moment to spend with Lisa, and Jack only lapsed his vigilance after lovemaking. “Why do you think, sir?”  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Very coquettish. How do you expect me to react to this?”  
  
Ianto didn’t answer.   
  
Jack scoffed. “Whatever.” He turned to go back up the ladder.  
  
“Thank you,” Ianto said.   
  
Jack looked back.   
  
“For... what you did. At Brecon Beacons.”  
  
Jack’s eyebrow raised again. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Let you die?”  
  
A long silence passed between them, and then Ianto heard his own voice whisper, “I was just glad to see you.”  
  
Jack turned properly and came to him. “You’re giving me very mixed signals here, Ianto,” Jack said.   
  
Ianto’s breath was coming hard. The image of Jack breaking through that wall like a knight in shining armor was very vivid in his mind. Ianto had never thought of himself as the swooning maiden before. “I... I’m just surprised you bothered to save me.”  
  
“And Tosh,” Jack said. “And stop a pair of monsters.”  
  
“They weren’t monsters.”  
  
“Humans can be monsters,” Jack said. “They can be the worst monsters of them all.”  
  
“You’re right,” Ianto said quietly. “Humans can. Be monsters.” Jack was standing a little too close — he always stood too close — and Ianto found himself wavering. He sagged, and his head touched Jack’s shoulder.   
  
Jack’s response was immediate and unreserved. His arm went up and around him, and he nibbled at Ianto’s ear. “I thought you didn’t want this.”  
  
Ianto shuddered. “Jack....”  
  
Jack grabbed his head and kissed him, one of his passionate, expert kisses that always left Ianto weak in the knees. “Is this why you’re here?” he breathed when he was done. “Is this why you came tonight?”  
  
“I... I don’t....”  
  
“Ianto, you have to tell me. Don’t do this to me again. You know I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Don’t tease me.”  
  
The words were making Ianto shudder with anticipation. “I think....” He couldn’t finish.  
  
“Yes, or no, Ianto. Tell me.”  
  
“Yes,” Ianto hissed, and Jack kissed him, hard.   
  
“Yes?” Jacked asked again when he pulled away.  
  
“Yes,” Ianto said with abandon. “Just do it. Do it to me, I deserve it.”   
  
Jack’s breath caught with desire and he leaned forward to kiss him again, then stopped short. For a few heated breaths they stared at each other. “You deserve it?” Jack said. He frowned. “You what?”  
  
Ianto almost sobbed. “Do whatever you want to me,” he whispered. “I don’t deserve to live.”  
  
Jack pulled back slowly, dismay and disgust trickling over his face. “You fucking bastard,” he said, almost casually, and he scoffed with contempt. With a sudden lunge he grabbed Ianto by the hair, turned him round, and forced his face against the wall. Ianto could feel him all down his back, pressing into him, holding him down. He gasped with terror and anticipation, expecting Jack to rip down his trousers and rape him right there.   
  
“What do you think I am?” Jack hissed in his ear. “You feel guilty and hurt and you want me to punish you, is that it? Is it!” He shook Ianto hard, and Ianto found himself whimpering a tiny nod as he bit his lips in terror.   
  
“Well, fuck you!” Jack growled in his ear. “God damn you, Ianto. God damn you! I can punish you, all right, I can punish you until every drop of guilt is bled out of you and I have you screaming for mercy. Never doubt I can give you all the punishment you ever deserved.” He yanked Ianto’s head back until it was hard to breathe. “But I won’t _be_ your punishment, do you hear me? I am not your punishment!” He threw Ianto to the ground with a snarl as fierce as any tiger.   
  
Ianto lay with his knees bruised and his heart racing. He hadn’t thought Jack would react this way. Knowing Jack’s proclivities, Ianto had thought he’d be rolled over, fucked hard, and left for drained. There was a heavy moment when Ianto didn’t know what to do. Then Jack reached down and grabbed him by the belt. “The moment you say stop,” Jack hissed in his ear, “this stops. I won’t play games with you, not anymore. You’re here because you want this, you sick fuck, you hear me?” Ianto could only shiver. “Answer me!”   
  
“Yes, sir!”  
  
“You want to be punished.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
“Thank god,” Jack said, and he fumbled for Ianto’s buckle, twisting it open violently. “Because I so want to beat you!” He dragged the belt free and folded it in his hand, making it into a very effective strap. He hit Ianto hard, very hard, across the back three, four, five, a pause, six times. Each time the sound of the belt made a wet thunderclap in the little bedroom. It hurt, a lot, and Ianto went cold with each snap of the belt.  
  
Jack pulled back, breathing hard. “I shouldn’t do this angry,” he snarled. “Why do you make me so god damn angry? Take off your fucking shirt.”   
  
Ianto was afraid to move, and he only hesitantly sat upright.   
  
“Do it! Faster, you bastard! Or get the fuck out of my sight!”  
  
Ianto’s fingers flew down his buttons, finally abandoning the process and pulling the shirt off over his head.   
  
“Take hold of that ladder.” Jack gestured with his chin. “Do it fast, and hold on tight. ‘Cause this is really gonna hurt.”   
  
The bright anger in Jack’s eyes was exciting and terrifying. Ianto did as he was bid, closing his eyes in anticipation of the blow.  
  
It hurt, far worse than it had through his shirt, but he got the feeling that Jack was holding back now, where he hadn’t been before. A sharp slice of pain, and then fear, anticipation, pain, fear, anticipation, pain, fear, over and over again. Ianto’s fingers were numb from gripping the ladder, and he cried out several times. Jack stopped. Ianto’s back was hot with tingling afterimages of pain. He started to relax. And Jack hit him again, hard. Ianto screamed. He couldn’t help it, it hurt. His knees buckled, and he went down, but he forced himself back up. He would not look at Jack.   
  
“Damn you,” Jack said, and he hit him again.   
  
“Ah!” Ianto was trembling all over, and tears spilled out his eyes. Tears. Where the hell had those come from? They’d been gone since the night Lisa died. Jack hit him again, and again he went down to his knees. This time he just stayed on his knees, his head against the ladder, tears of pain streaming from his eyes. His knuckles were white, and his hands sweaty. Iron and salt flooded through his mouth, and he had to swallow to keep from feeling nauseated. Jack hit him again.   
  
Ianto shook with a sob of pain, and he had to gasp to find any air. His back was on fire, and every time Jack hit him again it was as if he’d been burned. “Damn it!” Jack said. “You are never going to tell me to stop, are you.”   
  
Ianto’s head sank, leaving a smear of sweat on the ladder. He was trembling, and he wasn’t sure if it was pain, fear, or exhaustion by this time. It was hard to breathe.   
  
With a jolt of pure terror, Ianto felt another touch on the back of his neck, but it wasn’t the strap, and it wasn’t rough. “I’ll have to remember that about you,” Jack said, kneeling by Ianto’s trembling form. His voice still sounded angry, but his touch, though firm, wasn’t painful.  
  
A moment later Jack had backed away. Ianto heard a movement on the bed. This was it. He had let himself be beaten. Now he was going to let himself be raped, it was no better than he deserved. Another sob escaped.   
  
A soft pillow landed by his knee, and a second later a soft comforter was thrown over his back. “Stay there til you can move.” Jack said. “Stay warm. Drink fluids. And avoid me for the next twelve hours at least. I’m still mad at you.” He paused. “Move your fucking hand.”  
  
Ianto moved his hand off the ladder, and Jack climbed over him and out. A little while later, Ianto heard the rushing siren sound of the airlock doors opening and closing and he knew Jack had gone out.   
  
It was all he could do to wrap the comforter around himself and fall prostrate onto the pillow. The cold floor seeped through the cloth, but Ianto didn’t feel like he could move yet. A tingling warmth had flooded through his body. It had been such a relief to feel the pain. Another sob crept out as the thought terrified him. What was wrong with him? But for as long as Jack had been beating him, Ianto hadn’t been thinking about Lisa. Even now, the pain of losing her seemed far away, and the guilt at his actions and the deaths they had caused wasn’t such a deep pool of black. The tears he cried now were pain, not grief, but they were refreshing nevertheless.   
  
Ianto found himself waking up four hours later. He’d fallen effortlessly asleep without even trying, and his sleep had been blissfully nightmare free. He felt better. He sat up. His back felt tender. He was afraid to look at the damage, wondering how many bruises Jack had left, or if he’d drawn blood. He stood up and turned away from Jack’s mirror by his wardrobe, trying to see his back by gazing over his shoulder. It was red, with white lines, but there were no bruises, no welts, no blood. The parts he could touch felt hot, close to a feeling of sunburn, but not injured.   
  
Ianto pulled his shirt back on and found his jacket and tie by the chair. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He should get out of here. Jack could be back any minute.   
  
He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

  
Ianto was intimately aware of his shirt and coat all the next day. He’d gone home, but he was afraid to try and sleep again, so he’d drunk tea and watched stupid action flicks until it was time to go back in to work.   
  
Jack did not make any reference to what had happened the night before. Well. Ianto knew that pattern. He hadn’t made any reference when they’d been sleeping together, either.  
  
The next night, the nightmares were back in force. Lisa’s voice, blaming him. The bleeding Dr. Tanizaki. The zombielike face of Lilly the pizza girl. The night after that, he couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing Lisa’s tortured body bleeding on the ground. He never found sleep. He tossed and turned, twisting his bedclothes into a knot, before he got up and went back to the hub.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Jack wasn’t altogether surprised to see him. Ianto was cleaning. Cleaning at two in the morning. The boy didn’t even know how to ask. Jack sat on the couch and watched him for a long time as Ianto scrubbed the tables and counters and refused to look at him. There were deep circles under his eyes.  
  
Jack finally took pity on him. “Come here,” he said.   
  
Ianto’s face was a mix of fear and longing when he looked up. He trembled. “You,” Jack said, pointing with his finger. “Here.” He crooked it, beckoning.   
  
Ianto came forward not reluctantly, but clearly uncertain. Jack pushed the coffee table aside with his foot, and Ianto jumped.   
  
“Get on your knees, or go home and sleep,” Jack said.   
  
Ianto sank to his knees as if in a daze. Jack wanted to kiss him so bad he was salivating, but he knew he’d lost that privilege. He’d lost it through arrogance and willful ignorance. But at least Ianto still needed something from him. Jack pulled his handcuffs out of his coat. “Hold out your hands.”   
  
Ianto hesitated.   
  
“Or go home. I’m certainly not holding you here. I’m not playing games with you, Ianto. I swore I wouldn’t.”   
  
Ianto looked at him then, surprise in his eyes.  
  
“I’m not a rapist, Ianto,” Jack said. “Now, give me your hands, then turn around.”   
  
Ianto’s hands closed for a moment, confused, and then held themselves innocent out to be bound.   
  
“What do you feel guilty for?” Jack asked, locking up Ianto’s wrist. “The deaths?” He pushed Ianto down over the cleared coffee table. He breathed the words intimately into Ianto’s ear, his voice seductive, heady. “The lies? Risking all our lives?” He laced the handcuffs around the leg of the table and bound Ianto’s other hand to it. “The planet? Letting a parasite like that get a foothold to assimilate the world?”   
  
Ianto gulped. He couldn’t answer, and Jack knew he couldn’t.   
  
“It’s nothing you have to tell me,” Jack whispered, sounding as unkind as he could muster. Hurting Ianto was going to be harder tonight. He wasn’t angry. “Just feel it. It was all your fault, you know. And for what?” He reached under Ianto and unhitched his belt. Jack actually had floggers and whips and plenty of paraphernalia in his room under the office, but he’d learned over the years it was more effective to use what happened to be at hand. Ianto’s belt had worked so well before. He leaned in and whispered the last two words into Ianto’s ear again. “For what?”   
  
It was love, he knew that. But he was being the voice of Ianto’s own conscience tonight. “What do you deserve for all that, Ianto Jones? Death? Pain?” He reached down and ran his hand down Ianto’s ass. “Me?” He slapped it hard with the belt, and Ianto grunted. Jack spent a little time warming up on the back of Ianto’s trousers before he pulled them down around his knees.   
  
The sound Ianto made when Jack did that was moan of terror so erotic that Jack went hard as rock, which was inconvenient more than anything else. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he forced himself to say. He switched the full, beautiful ass with a sound like a gun going off.  
  
He gave him a full ten minutes and then let him rest and cry for another ten before going at him again. By the time he finished the second session, Jack was tired himself. He unlocked one of Ianto’s hands and left the key on the table. Then he pulled him onto the couch. His tear streaked face looked so like a little boy’s. Jack longed to kiss the tears away, hold him through the next fifty minutes, bind Ianto to him through endorphins and dopamine. But he’d lost that privilege. He had to remind himself of that several times. He had to content himself with touching Ianto’s cheek — just once, so gently — before he left him alone to come to grips with his psyche.   
  
Jack looked at the clock. There _had_ to be a club open somewhere. Someone, somewhere, who wanted to dance with Jack, or fuck him senseless, and let him bleed off all his own god-damned guilt over Ianto. It was all right for Ianto. He had Jack to punish him. Jack was left with punishing himself. It was never as effective.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
  
The last session kept Ianto for three days before the rats began eating their way out of his stomach again. He didn’t want to go home, face his empty flat, the bed of nightmares, the empty rooms of guilt. He lingered after the others had gone home. And lingered. There was always something to clean....  
  
The unspoken question was heavy in the air. It had never been like this. Before Lisa, before their time together had become nothing more than an exploration of pain, Jack had been the aggressor. It had been easier that way. Now it was pretty clear that he was only going to turn to Ianto if Ianto turned to him first.   
  
Ianto kept cleaning closer and closer to Jack, inching his way up into the office, then cleaning the office, until he was taking the garbage out from under Jack’s desk, getting him to move his feet. “Excuse me, sir.”  
  
Jack moved exaggeratedly slowly, and Ianto eased out the paper bin. He took it out and then sank to his knees beside Jack to refill the liner. It was unmistakably intimate. Jack let his hand fall onto Ianto’s shoulder. Instead of pulling away, Ianto’s head sank forward until he was leaning against the desk. Every muscle was tense, vibrating like a plucked guitar.  
  
“You really don’t know how to ask, do you,” Jack said quietly.   
  
The reply was so quiet Jack almost didn’t hear it. “No, sir.”   
  
“You know you need to want it.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Jack sat for a long moment, feeling Ianto’s heat beneath his hands. “Do you want it?”  
  
There was a hesitation, but when the answer came it came with a submissive sag that could only mean surrender. “Yes, sir.”   
  
Jack wanted to caress his head, sensually remove his tie, draw him close. His jaw twiched with desire. Instead he said, “Go down to my bed and take off your shirt.”   
  
There was already a shake to Ianto’s shoulders, in the beginning of a sob. “Yes, sir.”   
  
Jack followed him and watched him, as he took off his tie, hung up his coat, carefully unbuttoned every button of his shirt. The whole series of actions were so deliberate, almost ritualistic. Jack opened up his drawer of tricks. The leather manacles were fun. Ianto wasn’t up for any of the hard stuff, no matter how desperate he thought he was.   
  
“Lay down on the bed. Your arms spread.”  
  
He attached a manacle to each of Ianto’s wrists and ankles, and left him spread eagled on the bed. Jack knew just where to attach them to the bed frame. “Let me see,” he said, and produced a leather flogger. He called it a cat’o’nine, though a real cat had fishhooks to rend flesh from bone. That wasn’t the kind of pain Jack liked dealing. This was soft leather, but would leave a nasty sting. “Do you want to know what I’m hitting you with?” he asked. “Or does it matter?”  
  
Ianto shook his head silently.   
  
“I need you to answer,” Jack said. “I’ve been known to misinterpret your body language.”   
  
“It doesn’t matter, sir,” Ianto said.   
  
Jack closed his eyes. What had become of the innocent boy he’d thought he was seducing? He’d been tormented, abandoned, disillusioned, lost everything he held dear. And, albeit inadvertently, raped. By Jack. Jack’s inability to see what he had done until after he’d found out about Lisa hung in his mind, like a sore tooth he kept trying to forget about. Usually he could ignore it. But then Ianto would look at him, or, more often, avoid looking at him, and the shame of it would flare again. It wasn’t even Jack’s fault, that was what galled him. Ianto had done it to himself. But Jack still felt the shame of it. Jack hated feeling like a rapist. Sex was supposed to be fun! He’d certainly thought Ianto was having fun at the time. He’d acted like it.   
  
It couldn’t all have been lies. Could it?   
  
It could.   
  
Damn him.   
  
The leather cat made a sound like shuffling cards when it struck flesh, and Ianto twitched at the first strike. God damn it. Three strikes in, and Jack wanted to fuck him already. It was getting harder and harder for Jack to keep hitting him. In truth, he wanted very different things from Ianto. He always had. He didn’t want to keep punishing him. His fury at the betrayal had flared and died within days of the reveal, and the insult of his “I deserve it” wasn’t enough impetus to carry this violence through for long. A little rough sex play was one thing, but this wasn’t fun. Jack wasn’t angry at him anymore. This pliant and obedient Ianto wasn’t making Jack’s blood boil — or didn’t make him angry, anyway. His blood sure felt hot when he saw Ianto’s bare flesh.  
  
_That’s it,_ he told himself. _You can’t have it. He’s teasing you with it, and you can’t have it, and_ — there! There it was. Annoyance. Jack’s frustration carried through the swing and Ianto whimpered under his hand.   
  
Jack kept on until Ianto was crying freely. Damn it. This wasn’t fair. Jack was tired of being the hard one, tired of all the violence. A little was one thing, but this was relentless. It was exhausting, this. All Ianto had to do was lie there. Jack was the one doing all the work. And Ianto was so damn beautiful, and his tears made Jack shake with the desire to hold him, kiss them away, stretch him out and make him gasp, curl up beside him, watch him sleep, brush his hair out of his eyes, kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, his sweet, heated breath and the desperate confusion in his eyes, and the feel of his smooth skin. The memories were like caustic acid under Jack’s skin. Then one of Ianto’s cries let loose, and it sounded exactly like a little boy’s. “Oh, god damn it!” Jack gave up. He was out of breath anyway. He sank down sitting onto the bed beside the shaking, weeping young man that he wanted to hold so badly it made his teeth ache. “Why do you put me through this?” he muttered. It was intended as a rhetorical, buried under Ianto’s sobs.  
  
“I don’t know,” Ianto whispered. Jack turned as he realized Ianto had heard him. Ianto choked and fought back another sob as he said. “I don’t know why I want this.” He shook his head and buried half his face in the pillow. “I don’t know why I’m not running as far and as fast as I can from you. I hate you, and I hate this, but I keep coming back. I can’t stop myself. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  
  
The words were raw, as was the shamed bewilderment in his voice. Jack frowned, a little bewildered himself. He didn’t know? No, Jack realized. Ianto really didn’t know. Well, now that Jack thought about it, if Ianto had never been with a man, it wasn’t inconceivable that he’d never done this kind of thing, either. Ianto was very young. That annoyingly vulnerable place inside Jack melted further, and the pitifully weak armor he’d tried to erect between himself and Ianto cracked, again. Jack let his knuckle softly draw a tear away from the corner of Ianto’s eye. “You’re in pain,” Jack said gently. “You’re grieving. The grief, and guilt too, are eating you up. Probably loneliness. This takes the pain from the inside where you can’t do anything with it, and brings it outside, where it’ll bleed off. It helps you to cry. It opens you up, lets out all the poison.” He shifted. “The feeling of finally being punished makes the guilt quieter. Endorphins flood your system, easing the pain all around. Probably helps you sleep, which is also healing. It’s all very normal.”   
  
Ianto was staring at him as if in a daze, tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes. Jack couldn’t take it. He couldn’t keep his hands off him. He touched Ianto’s hair, rather than anything more intimate. “You’re not sick. You’re just grieving. There’s nothing wrong with you that you weren’t already aware of. There are some people who are really masochistic, some wire crossed in their perceptions, pain is pleasure, and that is something different about them. That’s not you. You’re just... wounded, that’s all. That’s why you’re not running. Why you keep coming back. And why you never tell me no.” He wanted to hold him, and he couldn’t, damn it. He could only let the comfort come out in his words. “Where I come from, everyone knows this. Of course, there were a lot fewer taboos all around.”   
  
“I know you’ve done this before,” Ianto said.   
  
“I’m too good at it for you to think otherwise,” Jack said with a touch of a smile.   
  
Ianto shifted, looking up at him. “Why do you do it?” Jack glanced at him. His eyes were beautiful, shadowed and bright with tears. He was actually looking at him. That was rare. Ianto never looked at him anymore. “Do you like hurting me?”  
  
“Sometimes,” Jack admitted. “You lied to me, it makes me very angry.”   
  
“Does it bleed off any of the hate?”  
  
The words were so low, they sounded like a purr. Jack had to hold himself rigid not to melt to the bed beside him and take him into his arms. “I don’t hate you, Ianto,” Jack said. “If I did, I couldn’t do this. I’d have killed you already.”  
  
“I guess you have to hold yourself in check.”  
  
“And listen to you. And try to read your body language, ‘cause you sure as shit aren’t talking.”   
  
“So why do you even bother?”  
  
“Why do you even ask?” Jack snapped. His annoyance was rising again. “You complain I never asked you about yourself. You never asked me, either.”  
  
“‘Cause you wouldn’t have answered.”   
  
“How do you know?”   
  
Ianto almost smiled. “I know you better than you think,” he said. “Why do you think the coffee’s always ready when you need some? Why’s your coat only out to be cleaned when you aren’t going to use it? How come the pizza is hot just when you get hungry? I can read you like a book. I don’t know what you’re thinking, I can’t guess if you’re even feeling anything. But I know what you’ll do. Always.” He looked away, as if uncomfortable with this fact. “Always.”   
  
Jack always loved that about Ianto. It annoyed him to have it brought up. “Yeah,” Jack said. “Well, it’s easy enough. I never lied to you.”  
  
“You don’t tell the truth, either.”  
  
“It’s still not a lie,” Jack said. “In answer to your question: You’re not the only one who knows how to clear shit up around here, okay? If an employee needs something I can provide, I provide it.” It sounded colder than he’d intended, but he couldn’t take it back.   
  
Ianto went pale and turned his head further away. “Right.” Two more tears escaped, but they might have just been waiting for him to close his eyes.   
  
“It’s just that I know what you need, Ianto,” Jack said, trying to sound more gentle.   
  
“Understood, sir.”   
  
Jack knew there’d be nothing more. That “sir” was such a final punctuation to anything Ianto said. It meant the gate was closed, and nothing could touch him now. Jack stood up to go.   
  
“I hate you,” Ianto said.   
  
“I know you do,” Jack said. And I want you so badly every inch of me is burning, you beautiful bastard, he didn’t say. He almost turned away, but Ianto pulled his eyes away first, burying his face in the pillow as if he could hide there, a hunted thing. Jack almost reached out to touch him again, and stopped himself. “I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you,” he said quietly. “One day the pain will have bled off enough you won’t need me anymore.”  
  
“What happens then?” Ianto asked.   
  
Jack let his head tilt in a shrug. “Well, then, when that day comes you’ll do one of two things. You’ll walk away and disappear from here forever.” He couldn’t quite go on, so he stood and unlatched Ianto’s right arm.   
  
“Or?”  
  
Jack flashed a rueful grin. “Or you’ll finally think about forgiving me,” he said. He climbed the ladder and left Ianto alone to unbuckle the rest of the manacles  



	4. Chapter 4

  
_You’re in pain._  
  
The talk Ianto had had with Jack floated through Ianto’s head daily, both comforting and wounding at the same time. How did Jack know what he was feeling? Why did Jack have to fucking know what he was feeling? Why couldn’t he just be easy to hate?   
  
_You’re in pain._  
  
Oh, it was so true. Ianto sometimes couldn’t breathe through the pain. And it didn’t seem to matter what he did. He put on a sedate mask and smiled politely and fetched everyone their coffee and played the good little tea boy, and no one seemed to care. Not even Jack.  
  
He knew they all forgot about him as often as they could. Even Jack never seemed to remember he was there. He was so cold. It was only at night, when Ianto came to him, that Jack seemed human at all. And then it was.... Damn it. Ianto didn’t know what it was. It couldn’t be terrible, or he wouldn’t keep coming back for more. Like the sick fuck he had become. Then Jack wasn’t cold, but he sure wasn’t warm, either. But during the day Jack was cool as the winter rains. And none of the team seemed to suspect that underneath Ianto’s gentle smiles his stomach was full of rats.  
  
“Ianto?” Jack asked. Cool. So cool. He was an arctic ocean.   
  
“Sir?” Ianto looked up from the coffee pot. He could hear the two of them. They were both emotionless. Jack was ocean, and Ianto was stone, but there didn’t seem any other way they could be.  
  
“Does Tosh seem different to you?”   
  
That was unexpected. Ianto frowned. “Like how, different?”  
  
“Well, apart from starting to fight crime in her off hours, does she seem... I don’t know. Erratic?”  
  
Ianto shrugged. “A little bit.”  
  
“What have you seen?”  
  
Ianto shook his head. “Nothing, really.”  
  
“What?” Jack was standing a little too close to him. He always stood a little too close. He could be across the room and it sometimes felt a little too close to Ianto.   
  
“Well. She brought me a coffee this morning,” Ianto said.   
  
“And?”  
  
“And. That’s it.”  
  
“What’s so strange about that?”  
  
Ianto looked up. “Have you ever?”   
  
Jack’s eyes twitched as he realized he hadn’t. He probably didn’t even know it, but Ianto saw it. He read volumes in Jack’s face every moment. “Suzie? Owen?” Ianto went on. “Even Gwen the compassionate.” He shrugged. “It was strange. It’s like she saw me.”  
  
“Of course she saw you,” Jack said.   
  
Ianto shook his head. “No, sir,” he said evenly. “No one sees me.”  
  
Jack didn’t reply to that, but Ianto was used to that.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Tosh had been acting strangely due to her affair with a murderous alien, who had given her a pendant that enabled her to read thoughts. The alien held Tosh hostage and threatened the planet. Jack put a stop to the alien’s rampage quickly and without fuss, teleporting her into the heart of the sun. “It shouldn’t be hot, I mean, we teleported her at night and everything,” he said flippantly.   
  
Tosh was pale and shaking as she looked at him. “You killed her.”   
  
“Yes!” Jack’s voice was a bullet that killed all of Tosh’s protests cold. Then he turned and headed back into his office, just another day at work. Ianto watched Tosh step away, shaking, until her feet found the stairs. Then she couldn’t walk anymore, and she sank onto them.   
  
Owen and Gwen — who had recently started their own affair and weren’t hiding it very well — slipped off to confer. Ianto had a moment of indecision. But he couldn’t leave it.  
  
In perfect silence, he followed Tosh, and sat down beside her on the steps. He didn’t know if she wanted comfort, but he was there. He didn’t say a word. It took less than a minute before Tosh started to cry. Ianto offered his hand for her to hold, and when she sagged, put his arm around her shoulders. He felt totally cold. Her pain did not touch him, but he knew what she needed. For her the wound was shallower — her affair had been but brief, after all, and full of lies — but it was the same wound.   
  
Suddenly Tosh grabbed at the pendant around her neck and threw it across the room. Ianto wondered what she had just read in his thoughts. “Good move, that. I wouldn’t want to visit my head, either,” Ianto said.   
  
“I don’t need to,” Tosh said. “You’re right, it’s exactly the same. Oh, God! Ianto, I’m...”   
  
Ianto shook his head slightly, and she did not finish saying she was sorry. It wasn’t her turn to be sorry right now. “You’ll get through it,” he said.   
  
Tosh sobbed, and Ianto let her, his arm a gentle weight of understanding.   
  
  
***  
  
  
Eventually Tosh’s sobs slowed, and Jack poked his head out of the office, with a brusque reminder that he still needed to debrief her. Tosh stiffened then slowly went to retrieve the pendant. Ianto couldn’t stop himself from throwing Jack a glare that could have cracked glass. Not entirely to Ianto’s surprise, Jack only stared back, impassive.   
  
After she relayed her story, Tosh had a brief talk with Gwen and Owen, and then Jack took her up top to speak with her in private. It was a long time before he came back. Gwen and Owen had already left for home, and Ianto was still cleaning.   
  
Ianto knew he could have gone home, too. But he didn’t want to. Not tonight. He had to try and twist the knife. For Tosh. For Lisa.   
  
Jack smelled like he’d been clubbing. He was probably a little drunk. Ianto jumped forward to take his coat, as he sometimes did, playing the butler. “Busy day, sir,” he said.   
  
Jack chuckled.  
  
“Where is the pendant, sir? I need to catalog it.”   
  
“Tosh destroyed it,” Jack said.   
  
“And you let her?”   
  
“She didn’t ask permission,” Jack said. He looked Ianto over. “Was there something you wanted?”  
  
“Not tonight, sir,” Ianto said, his voice ice.  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really. I might have thought you’d have been a little stressed.”  
  
“No more than Tosh,” Ianto said.   
  
“Well,” Jack said. “You handled her pretty well.”  
  
“I know I did, sir. And when you decide that Gwen’s boyfriend is an alien menace and brutally murder him, I’ll hold her, too.”  
  
Jack’s head tilted toward him sarcastically. “I’ve scheduled the murder for next week,” Jack said. “I love seeing my teammates cry.”  
  
“No you don’t,” Ianto said, finishing brushing off the coat. “You just don’t care.”  
  
“You’ve a very low opinion of me.”  
  
“I hate you,” Ianto said casually. “Will that be all, sir?”  
  
“You know I’m not what holds you here.”  
  
“Very well.” Ianto turned to go.   
  
“I don’t kill for the fun of it, you know,” Jack said to Ianto’s retreating back. Ianto turned to look at him. “I do what I have to do.”  
  
“I suppose you do,” Ianto said. “Or you think you do. It’s just that you seem to find it so easy to live with.”  
  
Jack laughed hollowly. _“Like I have any choice.”_   
  
The words were quiet, but so raw, they seemed to come from somewhere else entirely. They raked at Ianto’s ears and tore strips from his psyche. Jack’s face was open and tortured for a brief moment as he stared at Ianto, and Ianto took an involuntary step back at the pain he saw there. A second later, the emotion was gone again, and Jack flashed a distracted grin. “I could kill you, instead,” he said. “Or just let the aliens kill you all. Like you said, I don’t care.” He was looking away, trying to find something, anything, to attract his attention.   
  
Ianto watched him founder. “You should,” he said.   
  
“Should what?”  
  
“Care.”   
  
“What good would it do?” Jack asked. He looked at Ianto. “You’re all going to die, anyway. What difference does it make if it’s now or later?”  
  
“Then you should have killed me,” Ianto said. “When I betrayed you.”  
  
“I thought about it,” Jack snapped. “Maybe I should have. It would be easier than looking at _that_ every day,” he said, gesturing to Ianto’s face.   
  
“Then why didn’t you?”  
  
“I thought I answered that,” Jack said. “I didn’t need to. I do what I need to. Just get out of here,” he added. “Or let me beat you, I’m tired of talking.”  
  
“Shame you can’t beat Tosh,” Ianto said. “She betrayed you, too.”   
  
“She doesn’t want it,” Jack said. “You do. Don’t you.” It was an accusation, and it stung.   
  
Jack stood up and came over to him, sparks in his eyes. “Don’t you. Don’t you still need me for something! All the dirty things you can’t bring yourselves to do!” His hand clenched into a fist. “I won’t touch you till you tell me, Ianto, you have to tell me. If I flipped you over right now and whipped you till you screamed, would you tell me no?”   
  
He stared him in the face, and Ianto trembled. But it wasn’t the same tremble of desperation and fear. Nothing felt the same tonight as it had the other nights. All the other nights, he had been desperate, bleeding. Now a steel pillar of strength had crept inside, holding him upright inside the pain. Tosh’s pain had let him find it, and now it was supporting him, letting him face down Jack, who made his guts twist and his mind chatter with confusion. “No,” he said honestly. “No, I wouldn’t.”   
  
“Go down and let me,” Jack said with his eyes closed. “Just let me do something right tonight. I know how to do that.”   
  
The _please_ was unspoken, but Ianto read it in his face, anyway. He stood for a long moment. Jack’s presence was making him breathe hard. He didn’t want to go home. “Yes, sir.”   
  



	5. Chapter 5

  
  
Jack looked so relieved, Ianto was surprised. “You know where to go.” The words came out in a breath.   
  
“Yes, sir.” Ianto climbed down the ladder and proceeded to take his shirt off, almost mechanically. It felt wrong, though. Something wasn’t quite right tonight. Lisa was not behind his eyes threatening his psyche. Something else was there instead, and he wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t need Jack to beat Lisa away. His head sank. Maybe at the first blow, it would feel right.   
  
Jack took his time coming down the ladder. “On your knees, boy,” Jack said when he got there.   
  
“Yes, sir.” The words came so easily to Ianto’s lips. Jack tied him to the ladder with a leather thong and broke out the cat.   
  
The first blow felt really good, and Ianto sighed with it. To his complete surprise, he found himself smiling. He never smiled. He threw the smile away, but it kept coming back. This was beyond bizarre. As the blows continued, Ianto actually found himself wanting to laugh. The catharsis of the pain had moved past tears today. He didn’t know why. Jack....  
  
That moment when Jack’s face had been open and anguished. The pain that had escaped his voice when he spoke of living with it all. Torchwood was enough to torment the hardiest psyche over just one lifetime. How many lovers had Jack lost over the years? How many hard choices had he had to make? How much guilt weighed down his soul? Ianto flinched at another blow, but it was purely physical. He was hardly feeling it at all inside. The pain wasn’t a release tonight. The pain was only that — pain. Easily endured and just as easily dismissed.  
  
He didn’t need it.   
  
“Stop,” Ianto said.   
  
Jack stopped midswing, and the edge of the cat still touched his back like a caress. “What?”  
  
“Stop, Jack. Untie me.”   
  
Jack immediately pulled the cord and let the slip knot loose. He knew how to tie someone safe for quick release. Ianto turned. For a long moment they stood, staring at each other. Jack looked confused. “Did I hurt you?” Jack asked after a while.  
  
Ianto almost laughed. “Yes,” he said easily. “A lot.” He reached down and took the cat from Jack’s unresisting hand. “Of course you hurt me, you murderer,” he said conversationally. “You do it all the time. You god damned, arrogant, emotionless bastard.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “You hurt everyone you touch. You don’t care who you kill. You’re selfish, cruel, and totally oblivious. You don’t give a shit that Tosh is in hell tonight. You put us all through hell, you know that? Every single one of us. Every. Single. Day.” And he reached forward and grabbed Jack hard by the collar, almost choking him, his whole momentum throwing them down on the bed, Ianto on top. He did not let go. For a handful of heated heartbeats, they stared at each other. Jack was trembling beneath him. “You going to tell me to stop?” Ianto whispered into his mouth.  
  
“Fuck, no,” Jack said, with palpable relief in his voice. “You can go right ahead and kill me, you beautiful bastard. Fuck.” He sighed, sagging under Ianto’s fist. Ianto slipped Jack’s braces down and all but tore the buttons open on his shirt. He had Jack topless in a few seconds, and rolled him over on the bed, lifting up the cat to strike him, hard.   
  
Ianto had never hit anyone before, not like that, and the feel on his wrist was surprisingly satisfying. He tried to few more experimental blows, and Jack’s shoulders moved like a stretching cat. “You can go harder than that,” Jack said.   
  
“You didn’t.”  
  
There was a smile in Jack’s voice. “I’m not you.”   
  
Ianto hit him.   
  
“Harder,” Jack said.   
  
Ianto tried.  
  
“Harder.”  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you.”   
  
Jack laughed. “Then what’s the point?”   
  
Ianto realized how weird that had sounded.   
  
“I can take a lot worse than what you’re dishing out, believe me,” Jack said. He looked over his shoulder. His eyes were bright with relief. “You know I deserve it, too. Hit me with all your hate, come on.”   
  
There was more than a touch of pleading in Jack’s tone, and Ianto felt a painful surge of tenderness in his chest. So he hit him. Hard. And harder, and harder, until his shoulder ached, and his wrist felt like it was bruised, and his breath came hard and ragged and Jack’s back was a rash of welts and red marks and sharp white streaks of swollen flesh. Jack laughed, and screamed, and gasped, and gripped the edge of the bed, and just let him do it.   
  
And then Ianto was lying on his Jack’s tortured back, kissing Jack’s sweat beaded throat, the skin of Ianto’s chest silky against the pain. Jack could feel Ianto’s hard cock pressed against back of his trousers. “How in the hell did you manage to keep from fucking me?” he whispered in Jack’s ear.   
  
Jack shifted until they were holding each other. He was so warm. “You weren’t ready yet.”   
  
“Why?” Ianto said. “I would have let you.”  
  
“You didn’t want it.”  
  
“Yes, I did,” Ianto said, his eyes closing in surrender. “I always wanted it. Even when I didn’t want it, I wanted it. From the first fucking day. I always wanted you. Damn you.” His head sank in embarrassment, hiding in Jack’s shoulder. “I just didn’t want to,” he whispered.  
  
Jack sighed, a sound of relief. “I knew it couldn’t all have been lies,” he said, and he kissed Ianto’s forehead, tenderly. It made Ianto feel warm, a feeling very different from the sexual urge that had been building inside him while he beat him. Jack just held him for a moment, their bodies shifting, trying to find each other.  
  
“I’m not gay, you know,” Ianto said suddenly, looking up. “I’m not—”  
  
“Like I give a shit,” Jack said gently.   
  
Ianto grabbed his shoulders, pushing him away — but only his top half. Their legs were still entwined. “I still hate you.”  
  
“I wouldn’t expect any different.”  
  
Ianto let his head sag again, breathing in Jack’s scent, burying his nose in the hot, hard flesh. His teeth opened and closed, tasting Jack’s skin. He couldn’t stand anymore. His hands fumbled for Jack’s trousers, opening and tearing them down, and then he flipped him over and realized he didn’t know what to do.  
  
“Wait a minute,” Jack said, and reached for his bedside table. Of course Jack had lube. And condoms. Ianto laughed at the familiar sight of them. Jack pushed the tube into Ianto’s hand and assumed a submissive position, his welted back glinting in the light.   
  
It was the work of a moment to suit up and find his way inside the rough little hole, inside Jack who was always ready, and it felt like a thousand demons fluttered their way out of Ianto’s heart. “Oh, god. Yes,” he breathed. “This.”  
  
He wanted this. He really did. No more pretending. No more lies. No more illusions about what “Ianto” was or who “Ianto” should be. No more trying to slice off the bits of his psyche which didn’t fit his vision of who he thought he was. He wanted Jack. He always had. He didn’t love him, he probably still hated him, but he wanted to find his scent on his clothes, and he wanted to hear his arrogant American laugh, and he wanted to please him, and he wanted to punish him, and he wanted both back from him, and he wanted to roll over before him like a happy puppy, and dream about what it would be like to kill him, and shove his cock inside him and fuck him until he could no longer breathe. He cried out as the orgasm came, and dragged his nails down Jack’s tortured skin, and Jack screamed. Ianto wanted to hear that scream.   
  
Jack pulled away quickly, leaving Ianto spent and shuddering, and Jack glared at him, anger in his eyes. “Damn you, beautiful boy.” He pulled another condom on himself before he grabbed Ianto’s head and planted his cock firmly in his mouth. Ianto grunted, struggling, not sure he was ready for this. Jack was so rough, understandably so. A few hard, gagging strokes choked him. “Damn it, that feels good,” Jack said, but then he pulled away. Ianto gasped, and stared up at him, eyes wide. He was shaking, and not in a good way.   
  
“Shut up,” Jack said, answering the question in Ianto’s eyes. “I told you I’m no rapist. Roll over and give me what you came for.”   
  
Ianto did, and Jack slowed down, his fingers softening Ianto’s anus, sliding in and out with the lubricant. “You want me inside you?” Jack whispered.   
  
“Damn you. Yes.”   
  
“Thank god,” Jack breathed. He shoved himself inside. “Augh!” A few strokes, and Jack ran his hands along Ianto’s waist. “Oh, damn I’ve missed you!” The words sounded like a sob. He was done a few strokes later, almost before Ianto had a chance to enjoy the feel of him back inside him.   
  
Jack sank onto the bed beside him. There was an awkward moment — the same awkward moment that always happened after sex between them. Ianto felt strange — like this wasn’t right — and wanted to run away. Usually Jack was just wham, bam, thanks mister anyway, so it wasn’t an issue. Ianto shifted to leave.   
  
“Stop,” Jack said. Ianto hesitated. “I just told you to stop, so stop,” Jack said. Ianto paused, confused. Stop didn’t just mean _stop_ ; it meant _stop hurting me._   
  
Jack shifted, wrapped his arms around him and pulled him back. “Just wait,” he said. “A minute.” He held him, warm and secure, and very intimate. “You don’t have to love me,” Jack said after a moment. “You don’t even have to stop hating me. But don’t take this from me.” He breathed in the scent of Ianto’s hair. “Please.”  
  
Ianto sighed in the circle of Jack’s arms, frightened of what this — any of this — meant. It felt good, and it felt strange. He tried to focus on the good. “You never wanted this before,” he said.   
  
“You always ran away before,” Jack said. “And believe it or not,” he looked Ianto in the eyes. “I was always trying to give you want you wanted.”  
  
“I didn’t know what I wanted,” Ianto admitted. “I still don’t. I’m...” he didn’t know what he was trying to say.   
  
“Still hurting,” Jack said. “I don’t expect magic. But thank you for tonight.” He closed his eyes and caressed Ianto’s shoulder, holding him a little closer. “I needed this.”  
  
Ianto felt a thrill he had never expected to feel at the words. Jack needed him. It made him shudder. “You’re welcome, sir.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.   
  
Jack smiled, and it was so smug and self-satisfied that Ianto wanted to hit him. He twisted his nails into Jack’s swollen back instead. “You deserved it.”  
  
“Ow!” Jack twisted and held Ianto down, with a look halfway between annoyed and playful. “Don’t push your luck!”   
  
“What luck?” Ianto asked earnestly.   
  
“I told you,” Jack said, falling back down beside him. “I’m not playing games with you.”  
  
“Shame,” Ianto said..   
  
Jack stared at him. “You want to play with me?”  
  
“I thought we just established that.”  
  
“Yeah. But I still need you to tell me. It’s important.” Jack’s fingers sensually caressed the side of Ianto’s throat, tracing down his collarbone. “The moment you say stop,” Jack said, “this stops.”  
  
Ianto smiled and made himself more comfortable against Jack. “I know," he said.   
  
There was nothing else to say.   
  



End file.
